Childhood Memories
by greekie527
Summary: The characters of CSI:NY remember their childhoods and why they chose to become CSIs in the first place. Rated just in case.
1. Mac Taylor

"So, are there any questions?"

The Marine had come to Mac Taylor's high school to "let the young people know that such great opportunities are available"; in reality, he had been sent to recruit in advance. Mac didn't have any questions, but he was fascinated nonetheless. He liked the Marine's precise uniform, his impeccably shaved head and face, and his rigid posture. Most of all, Mac liked the Marine's pride. "I would be proud to wear that uniform too!" he thought. As soon as the Marine had stepped onto the assembly hall's stage, Mac knew that he was destined for the Marine Corps as soon as he graduated from college.

Mac was a loner. He had a 4.0 GPA, and would much rather conduct an experiment in the chemistry lab than go on a date. Truthfully, he could have his pick of almost any girl in Chicago, but he couldn't be bothered. He had saved enough money to buy a bass guitar, which he kept hidden under his bed. He played it in the wee hours of the morning, when his father was sure to be asleep; Lt. Taylor hated all music except Army bugle calls.

Although Mac was only a freshman when the Marine came to his school, he spent most of high school and college dreaming of what life would be like once he joined the Marine Corps. He couldn't wait to pass his medical exams and physical tests. Then he would move on to boot camp. Mac had always been one for strict order, and the military satisfied his need.

He was also impatient to move away from his broken home. His mother was severely depressed, and no amount of medications could prevent her violent and sudden mood swings. One minute she would dote on him for a perfect grade on a math test, and the next she would be screaming at him for not eating enough artichokes (Mac hated the things and secretly fed them to stray dogs). She left when Mac was 15, leaving him alone with his father. Lieutenant Taylor was a former army man himself, and although Mac needed strict order in his life, his father took that need to the extremes. If Mac wasn't downstairs by 7:15 and 30 seconds exactly, after having groomed himself in a precise fashion, he was condemned to 50 push-ups. Mac took comfort in the fact that his hard physical and mental labor in the Marine Corps was for a good cause, rather than just for his somewhat sadistic father's pleasure.

Mac was innately curious about how things worked and why people did things. Every time he had the opportunity to learn about forensic sciences, he leapt at the chance. He put his investigative skills to work, to discover that his father was abusive of his mother. He always tried to find out who took his muffin, or who decided to break into his locker at the gym. He decided that after he got out of the Marines, he would go and be a detective in some big city, maybe D.C. or New York. Anywhere but Chicago.


	2. Stella Bonasera

Stella sighed as she shuffled through the lunch line and grimaced as she saw that lunch was liver and onions. She consoled herself with the thought of the Hershey's bar she had hidden under the thin mat that was supposed to be her mattress. She quickly ducked out of the line of orphaned teenage girls and headed back to her room to read. She had borrowed a Greek novel from the public library, and she was intent on improving her grammar and vocabulary in the language. As she climbed onto her top bunk bed, she saw the envelope bearing the charity schools' logo and her name resting on her lame excuse for a pillow. She grinned as she pulled out the letter from the head nun: "Congratulations, Stella! You have been chosen to receive a full scholarship to the Forensic Science Academy of America. Good work and may God bless you forever," it said.

Stella was ecstatic. Ever since she had witnessed her parents' brutal murder when she was five, she had dreamed of becoming one of the strange men and women who finally caught the psychopathic man who had killed her beloved Mommy and Dad. Her mother was a Greek beauty descended from Helen of Troy herself, while her father was a handsome Italian. Both of her parents loved Stella with no boundaries. They took her to the Greek Orthodox Church every Sunday, and taught her bits and pieces of Greek and Italian. Sadly, Mr. Bonasera was a closet drug addict, and his addiction led to his and his wife's murders. For that reason, Stella chose to learn more about the Greek culture, rather than Italian.

She had been turned over to the Catholic orphanage, which always needed money. The nuns were astounded to discover that although Stella belonged in kindergarten, she could read and do math at the 4th grade level. Consequently, she had completed the entire school program by the time she was 14. Now she sat on her flimsy straw mat, savoring her Hershey's bar and finding new depth in her Greek novel.

Stella couldn't wait to get out of the orphanage. The lights were always dim. In summer, the inhabitants sweated and panted, while in the winter they shivered and huddled together. The orphanage had 50 more girls than it could hold, and the charitable nuns had their hands fullbetween constantly crying babies and teens stressing about boys and fashion. The only bright spots were her classes and her few friends. Unfortunately, Stella's roommate was not her friend. Her name was Ashleigh, and she was tall and blond with perfect features and intensely blue eyes. She was also dumber than a stump, and she was constantly asking Stella for help. To make things worse, she was one of those superficial, preppy, "popular" types that could have had an entire high school falling over themselves for her, had her mother not abandoned her at birth. Stella looked forward to May, when the orphanage would transfer her custody to the Forensic Science Academy of America. She already knew that she would be valedictorian when she graduated- she would love to see the looks on the faces of all the 17- and 18-year-olds when her name was announced. For a moment, she dreamed of the faces of proud parents and friends, and she pictured her mom and dad sitting in the front row, beaming the way they had when she recited her prayers perfectly, before she remembered that her parents were dead.


	3. Danny Messer

Danny swaggered down the road on his way home from school. It had been another interesting day, to say the least. As he looked down the road, he realized that it wasn't about to get better. A group of large boys were having a powwow in the middle of the alley through which he was currently walking. Danny instantly realized that they were members of the infamous Tanglewood gang. He discreetly stuck his hand into his pocket; he took a deep breath of relief as he wrapped his hand around his knife. He had friends in Tanglewood, and he knew all too well that they were a force with which to be reckoned. Danny inwardly grimaced as the leader of the little group noticed him. "I knew I shouldn't have cut through this alley!" he thought as the punk sauntered up to him.

Danny seemed to have it all: he was intelligent, handsome, and the school's softball star. At school, almost every student with a Y chromosome was perfectly willing to be best friends with Danny; every single girl was falling all over herself to act cute and flirtatious. He had never received a test score of less than 95, and his report card featured straight A+'s. The softball team owed its title of State Champion to Danny, and he owed the team for keeping him out of the gangs. However, he had lately been hanging around with some Tanglewood boys, but that was easily changed.

Now Danny regretted having stayed late after practice, to hit some balls and work off some steam. It was dark, and these gang boys drew most of the confidence from the dark. He wished that his family had more money, so that they could live in a better section of town and maybe so he could attend a better school. As it was, the Messer family was the only white family in the neighborhood. Danny was used to waking up in the middle of a pleasant dream to the sounds of gunshots, followed by screams and eventually sirens. He was also accustomed to being followed by white men in dark suits and sunglasses; his father was connected to almost every gang and mob in New York, and it was never pretty when he came home to visit.

"Yo, what'chu doin' here, boy?" growled the leader of the group. "You lookin' fo' trouble?" Danny knew how to speak the punks' dialect because he had grown up hearing it. "I was jus' goin' back ta my crib, dog. No harm intended," he replied uneasily. He knew that all the boys were likely carrying guns, and that his knife was no match for a firearm. "Goin' back ta ya crib? Dude, it's only six a'clock. Are ya a mama's boy?" the leader teased, and the next thing he knew, Danny was lying on the ground, glasses broken and nose bleeding. The boys were sniggering as their leader kicked Danny in the stomach. As he lay there in agony, he listened to the gang discussing what they should do to him: "I think we should jus' kill'im," said one. "Nah, he's not worth the slug. Too wimpy. We'll jus' beat'im crapless," replied the leader. Then a hail of fists and feet descended upon Danny's body, as he tried not to cry out in pain. After a few minutes of tortue, the group lost interest in Danny and left to pursue some other form of perverse pleasure. Danny picked himself up slowly and reluctantly thought, "Well, if you can't beat them, join them!" He knew that he would never be able to escape Tanglewood again.

As he dragged himself through the door, his mother sang, "Dinner's ready, dearheart." "I'm not very hungry, Mama," he said gently, as he tried to avoid his mother's loving eyes. He knew that she hated to see him bruised and bloodied, but they couldn't afford to live anywhere else. She had adopted a "tough love" attitude about it, but deep down, she would do anything to get the money to move away for her son's welfare.


	4. Lindsay Monroe

Lindsay giggled as one of the cows gave her a look that clearly meant, "Feed me. Now." She tossed a flake of hay into the cow's manger and moved onto the chicken coop. She quickly felt around for any eggs and dumped a bucket of grain in the middle of their area. The hens hadn't laid any eggs in a week, but they tended to do that. She moved on to the pigs and dumped two buckets of slop into their trough. She gave a scoop of grain and two flakes of hay, and went to the tack room to grab an apple for her horse, Maggie. Lindsay heard snorting and pawing as she approached Maggie's stall. As Lindsay yanked the stall door open, her eyes fell upon a bloody corpse. It was her mother. Lindsay yanked Maggie's bridle over her head and leapt on her back, not bothering with a helmet. She grabbed a pistol just in case, and galloped into the hills to be alone and think.

Lindsay cried as she clung to Maggie's back. Finally Maggie slowed to a trot, then a walk. She wasbreathing hard, and she lowered her head to drink from the cold clear stream that flowed through the meadow in which the light brown horse had stopped. "You really like this spot, don't you," Lindsay said wearily but with a slight laugh in her voice. It was ironic, how she could speak so happily to a horse who was just as disturbed as she. Lindsay slid off the horse's back and led her to the edge of the meadow. She tied Maggie to a tree and then climbed into it. She pulled a pillow out of a large knothole and set it in the V of two large branches and began talk to Maggie.

The Monroe family lived on an isolated farm in rural Montana. Their farm provided everything they needed, and as a result Lindsay was home-schooled. Her mother had leukemia, and she was rapidly dying. The Monroe's weren't spectacularly rich, and they lived fifty-three miles from the nearest hospital. Every time Lindsay's parents went to the hospital, they left her alone on the farm with four cows, three horses, six pigs, and fifteen hens. Lindsay didn't mind. She loved the company of the animals and the beautiful solitude of the scenery. She was especially happy to be left alone when her parents had been fighting again. Her father sometimes couldn't take the pressure of running a farm, home-schooling his 17-year-old daughter, and taking care of his wife, and he took it out on his family, his animals, whatever was closest.

Lindsay suspected that her father had lost his temper again. He had been drinking lately to help wash away his worries. When he was drunk, his normal rage was made ten times worse, and he was certainly capable of killing Mrs. Monroe. Additionally, Lindsay had heard her parents arguing late at night. It seemed that money was running low between her mother's cancer treatment and vet bills for all their livestock. Lindsay hadn't told her parents that she had earned a scholarship to the Forensic Science Academy of America. Now she didn't know if she would be able to fulfill her life-long dream of becoming a CSI, and the recent tragedy gave her all the more reason to give 150 at the Academy.

Suddenly Lindsay realized that she hadn't seen her father since she had gone to bed the previous evening. She wondered if Maggie had possibly gone berserk and trampled her mother to death, but Mrs. Monroe had no reason to be in Maggie's stall and Lindsay hadn't noticed any blood on Maggie's hooves or legs. The last non-Monroe on the farm was the vet, and he had come a month ago. Then Lindsay remembered what she had told her mind to bury and never dig up. In the middle of the night, Lindsay and her mom sometimes went and sat with the horses, just to bond and be together. Last night, however, they had gotten into a fight. Lindsay remembered punching and kicking her mother's weak body and screaming, "You can't just leave us, Mom! We need you on the farm. We need you for our sanity! You can't die!" Lindsay rode Maggie back to the farm and crept into her bedroom. Pulling the blankets back on her bed, she revealed fresh red splotches. She knew that with a little care, she could get away from this crime. She was leaving for the Academy in a month. She conspired with her father, and they agreed that a criminal investigation would be undignified. Together they cleaned Mrs. Monroe's body and then called the hospital. The world would never know.


	5. Don Flack

"I wanna be the good cop this time, Donny," whined Eddie. "You can't. You don't know how to be the good cop. Plus you do the bad guy so good!" replied Flack, impatient to begin their game. Eddie knew that he had a better chance of getting his way if he called Flack by his first name's variation. Flack, however, liked to be called Flack, especially when he was playing Cops with his friends.

As the young boys went about their pre-scripted role-play in the front yard, Flack's father pulled into the driveway in his NYPD squad car. "Aww, cool!" exclaimed Flack and Eddie in unison. Flack Sr. climbed out of his car adjusted his belt with all its heavy equipment, and shot a grin at the boys. He climbed the stairs to the porch and pecked his pretty wife on the cheek. "You're just in time, Donald. I was just draining the spaghetti! Boys, time for dinner!" she called. "But Mommy, I haven't shot the other robbers and caught Eddie yet!" Flack complained. Flack Sr. just shook his head, rolled his eyes, and grinned.

"Daddy, what did you do today?" Flack asked with a bit too much enthusiasm. Laughing, Flack Sr. replied, "Well, son, I was on patrol today. I rescued an old lady's cat from a tree, and I gave a man a speeding ticket. Other than that, I just drove around the precinct." "Oh," Flack sighed, disappointed. "When can I go to work with you, Dad?" His tone changed so quickly it took both of his parents by surprise. "You'll have to wait until I'm on desk duty. It's for your own safety," Flack Sr. said carefully. He didn't want his young son to be exposed to the violence he encountered every day, even though Flack would become a cop eventually. His father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather were all cops. It was in his blood.

Seven Years Later

Flack was now fourteen, and his father had finally let him ride along in his squad car. Flack thought that it was the most boring job of which he'd ever heard. His father pulled up to a bank, and the two Flacks went in. As Flack Sr. was conducting his business with the teller, Flack saw a car squeal to a stop outside the bank. As two masked men carrying large guns ran up the stairs, Flack desperately tried to get his father's attention; Flack Sr. merely gave his son a dirty look. Suddenly gunshots rang out, glass shattered, and people screamed and ducked for cover. Flack Sr. reached for his radio and quietly called for backup, while Flack looked on in terror.

Soon sirens were heard in the distance, and within minutes a squad car rounded the corner, lights blazing. Flack Sr. silently drew his gun, then stood and yelled, "NYPD! Freeze!" At that moment, more cops sprinted through the shattered windows. The robbers realized that they were outnumbered and raised their hands in surrender. Flack was shocked to see that beneath the masks and behind the guns, the robbers were only boys a few years older than he.

Flack was shaken and scared when he went home that night. He still loved police work and he still wanted to wear a badge when he got older, but he wanted to avoid patrol duty at all costs. Suddenly, the solution came to him: he would be a detective. That way he could still be a "cop", but he hopefully wouldn't find himself in danger too often. He was finally satisfied with his plans for the future.


	6. Sheldon Hawkes

Sheldon coughed again, and his mother came panting into his bedroom. He glanced up from his BC Calculus textbook and said to his mother, "Relax, Mom, I just found the wording of a problem in my book to be very entertaining. I cough when I express amusement." Mrs. Hawkes glared at Sheldon and made her way back down the stairs. Sheldon was twelve years old and terribly prone to getting bizarre diseases, but he was already in the 11th grade- when he made it to school, that is. Sheldon attended University School, New York City's premier school for boys. However, Sheldon had already had strep throat and the bird flu this winter, and now the doctors thought he had mononucleosis.

Sheldon had skipped 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th grades. He was now a junior in high school, and after he graduated next year he would go on directly to Harvard, and then to its medical school. Sheldon had always wanted to be a doctor, especially when he was sick. He was fascinated by all the tests his doctors ran on him and all their fancy machines and instruments. He was also a very caring boy, and he wanted to save lives.

Sheldon sighed as he shut his BC Calc book and put on the floor next to his backpack. He pulled out his AP Physics homework next, and quickly completed the worksheet. He put the notebook on top of his math book, and withdrew a slim book. A closer inspection revealed that the book was full of Latin poetry. Sheldon was just beginning to get into the rhythm of iambic pentameter when his mother entered his bedroom carrying a bowl of chicken noodle soup. "Mom! Didn't you _hear_ the doctor when he said no monounsaturated fat, polysaturated fat, trans fat or excessive sodium?" Sheldon knew his mother had a crush on his doctor, so Sheldon always had to tell his mom what the doctor had said.

As for Mrs. Hawkes, she didn't stand a chance of understanding half of the words that came from Sheldon's mouth. She was a high school dropout. She had Sheldon out of wedlock, and his father left her as soon as she told him she was pregnant. Luckily, Mrs. Hawkes' family had plenty of money. Mrs. Hawkes always wished that her son would have more friends. However, he didn't play sports, he wouldn't listen to music unless it was composed by Beethoven, Bach, or Mozart, and actually liked to read. He once read all 1,463 pages of _Les Misérables_, by Victor Hugo, in six hours. Once he read a book, he translated it into Latin and read it all over again.

Five Years Later

Sheldon was the valedictorian of his class at Harvard. He adored all of his med school classes, especially when he had to dissect a cadaver. As he had in high school, he spent all of his time studying and translating things into Latin. As he graduated med school and became licensed as a surgeon, the stress of being four or five years younger than his peers gradually got to him. He decided that the pressure of maintaining his "Wonderkid" reputation and actually successfully practicing medicine back in NYC was too much, especially after he lost a patient for the first time. He chose to become a medical examiner instead. He quickly became the Chief Medical Examiner, and he met the first friends he'd ever had.


End file.
